P.J. had observed the boy for the last couple days. He was hostile and standoffish with adults, but with Emily, he was gentle and kind. He had an enormous amount of patience with the little girl and her chattering. She would be fine.
“Do you mind, Steve?” When he shook his head, she smiled. “I won’t be long.”
With the assistance of one of the ranch hands, she found Cade in the barn. His long sleeves were rolled to just below his elbows and he was dirty.
“Something wrong?” he asked when he saw her.
“What was your first clue?”
“You look mad,” he said simply.
“Good. Because I am.” Through her anger, a smidgen of respect for him registered. In all the time she’d known Dave, he’d never once taken the time to figure out what she was feeling. One glance and Cade had pegged her. “I just want you to know you’re not going to get away with it.”
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb now. I’m on to you. I signed on as cook, not camp counselor. You’re not going to dump those boys in my lap.”
“You’re a teacher.”
“So what?” she asked, mentally cataloging her work experience. Then the light went on. She gave him a disgusted look. “You still haven’t read my résumé, havé you?”
“No.” He shrugged. “Why?”
“I teach English at St. Bridget’s School for Girls.”
“What difference does that make? Kids are kids. Just do teacher stuff.”
“Here’s a news flash for you, cowboy. These are boys and there’s rebellion in the ranks. It was today’s baking that put them over the edge. Eating is the only part of chocolate chip cookies they want. If I suggest a crash course on Shakespeare, I guarantee murder and mayhem will be the result.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“They bent over backwards staying out of trouble to earn the privilege of being in your program. This is a ranch, for God’s sake. Do you think it’s fair to leave them cooped up in the house with an English teacher who moonlights as a cook?”
“I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Me either. Boys are beyond my sphere of expertise.” She glared at him. “At least you were one once.”
He scowled right back. “And I was bad at it. What do you want me to do now?”
“Draw them into your world.”
“Ranching?”
“That’s why they’re here. Chances are they’ve never been within spitting distance of a horse. I haven’t. I bet they can’t ride. They probably don’t know how to take care of animals, at least none that big. This is a new world to them.”
“I don’t know how to let them in.”
“Let them do chores.” She indicated his dusty jeans and shirt “From the looks of you, you could use a little help.”
“It’s dangerous to have greenhorns underfoot.”
“Just let them watch. They’ll ask questions. It will evolve from there. At least try. You owe them that much.”
You owe your father, she wanted to say, but decided that wasn’t the best way to get through to him. His hostility toward the man was obvious. With her hands on her hips, she said, “Bottom line, McKendrick, this summer program is yours whether you like it or not You’re going to have to get involved.”
“Do you treat your boss at St. Bridget’s like this?”
She couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “When Sister Mary Constance gets out of line, you bet I do.”
She’d hoped to coax a smile out of him, but he only nodded, a troubled look on his face. “Send them out.”
“Done.” She started to walk away.
“Did you say there are fresh-baked cookies?”
“I did. Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
She swore he was staring at her mouth when he said that, and the gleam in his blue eyes had nothing to do with chocolate chip cookies. Then she decided her brain had malfunctioned in the heat. Or she’d spent too long cooped up in an all-girls school.
“I’ll bring some food out. Unless you want to come up to the house?”
It was becoming her habit to take a snack out to him in the afternoon. He wouldn’t take the time to come inside, more likely he was avoiding her. She enjoyed the break in household responsibilities. And, if she were honest with herself, she looked forward to seeing him during the day.
“I’ll grab something at the house after I’ve worked with the boys a bit.”
That was a surprise. “Something will be waiting for you.”
“What are you grinning at?”
She shrugged. “Just wondering if you’re beginning to realize that all work and no play makes Cade a dull—Well, you get my drift.”
She had been about to say “boy,” and thank God the word hadn’t popped out. There was nothing boyish about him. He was all-man, the first to interest her in a very long time. A wounded man. The worst kind because she sensed that he could hurt back. Yet he touched a part of her that wanted to reach out to him.
If only she’d had a face-to-face interview with him. She never would have taken this job. Now she was stuck. All she could do was protect herself, and the best way to do that was stay out of his way as much as possible. Because she had a bad feeling that it would be easier than falling off a horse for Cade McKendrick to break her heart.
In practically one gulp, Cade downed the lemonade that PJ. had handed him late that afternoon. It was the sweetest tasting he’d ever had. Maybe it only seemed that way because the kitchen was cool and permeated with the lingering scent of baked cookies and freshly broiled burgers and hot dogs. Or maybe it was because she’d given it to him.
She had no idea how he watched and waited for her to bring him lemonade and cookies every day. He was starting to look forward to the distraction she provided. Partly because she was a good cook, but mostly because he liked her. Either way it was a dangerous combination. Still, she would only be there for a little while, just till the kids went back to school. What could happen?
“Would you like some more?” she asked.
When he nodded, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out the pitcher. Cade held out his glass and she put her hand over his to keep it steady while she poured. Strange, he thought. The glass was cold and moist, her fingers cool. Why the hell was he hot all over from that slight touch?
He leaned back against the counter as he drank more slowly and observed P. J. Kirkland. In his early years of ranch jobs and rodeo riding, he’d met a lot of women. He’d sized them up quickly and slotted each one into a category, like horses in stalls. Some were career women who turned up their noses at him since he wasn’t upwardly mobile enough. Others were buckle bunnies who followed the circuit looking for a cowboy to warm their bed. The nurturing kind were the most touch and go. They were the ones who wanted a husband and kids.
He couldn’t figure out where PJ. fit. She had a career nine months of the year. She already had a kid, and from what she said, there had been one man too many in her life. He’d bet a dollar to a doughnut that he couldn’t pin the buckle bunny tag on her either. Earlier in the barn, he’d felt an almost overwhelming desire to kiss her. He’d wondered if she’d read the need on his face, as fast as she’d made her excuses and headed back to the house. Nope, she was no buckle bunny on the make.